Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by Audrey Brackett
Summary: Valentine's Day brings tragedy to two FBI agents...
1. Part 1

Every Rose Has Its Thorn   
By Kate Mulder   
Enigma806@aol.com mailto:Enigma806@aol.com   
RATING: PG-13 (No drugs, no sex, rather mild gore...mainly for the one   
Russian Roulette scene.) I prefer to err on the side of caution...you don't   
get your butt sued that way! (I might throw in a little rock-'n'-roll... :-P)  
SUMMARY: On the most romantic day of the year, Mulder and Scully face the   
toughest moments of their lives.  
FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! YES!!!!! It really does mean a lot to me. And I *do*   
respond. You have to understand, we authors...our egos require a lot of   
stroking...I accept constructive criticism, too. Flames will be saved for the   
purpose of burning my Euclidean geometry texts. If you want to use any or   
all of this story for something, contact me.  
ORGANIZATION: I'm a drifter... (I'd have said "FBI", but I don't need any   
legal trouble!)  
KEYWORDS (CATEGORY): Valentine's Day, MSR, major angst, torture (both M&S),   
Ratboy returns...whatever else you might want to read into it...(plus minor   
UST).  
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter is god of anything and everything XF. I bow in   
humble subjection before him, 1013, and FOX. I'm not worthy. I'm taking   
their characters (not mine, I said, NOT MINE!--oh, that hurt...) out to play   
for a little while...I'm not making any money off this! I'll return them   
when I'm done. I promise. Except maybe Mulder. Just kidding, you can have   
him back too. And, much as I hate it, I'll even clean up. Deal? Okay!   
Good, then! Thanks! No infringement intended. Any songs mentioned here are   
also not mine, unless otherwise noted.  
DISCLAIMER 2: The poems quoted in here are by a friend of mine, Ryan Scott.   
I don't intend to take credit for 'em, although I wish I could. They're   
really good!   
ARCHIVE: Yes, please, definitely, but please tell me first, so I don't   
accidentally repost later. And feel free to pass this along, as long as my   
name stays attached.  
SPOILERS: Not really...unless you count one of Scully's speculations as a   
reference to "Closure". But you probably won't think anything of it unless   
you've seen the episode. Oh, wait, there's one for "Pusher" and "Anasazi".   
And a tiny one for "The End","Paper Hearts", and "731". The others are just   
"obscure references".  
SEASON NOTE: Really, this is supposed to be 7th season--it presumes that   
Valentine's Day was *before* "Sein Und Zeit", however. Otherwise, a lot of   
stuff would contrast continuity.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hope you enjoy this...even if I'm still a little ticked over   
the fact that fictional characters are seeing more romance than I am! :-P It   
might get a little depressing, but things *do* work out, eventually...I   
promise. I don't write *too* many Valentine's Day stories of   
destruction...really! I swear it! Okay, fine, then, don't believe me. One   
other thing...in certain spots, I'm going for a sort of parallelism...   
*please* don't think of me as simply repetitive! Okay, 'nuff said, now on to   
the story!  
************************************************************************  
February 14  
Annapolis, Maryland  
  
With a heavy sigh, Special Agent Fox Mulder got out of his car. He looked   
down at his attire. Black suit. Hmm. He could've sworn he'd put the *navy*   
one on this morning, but then again, it *had* been dark. He'd gotten up   
late, and had to hurry to work. Let's see...black suit, white shirt, black   
tie...he had his sunglasses on against the sun's glare...had he happened to   
have a black fedora on hand, he could've been one of the men in black (or one   
of the Blues Brothers, but that was another story altogether). He looked to   
his left, expecting his partner to be tagging along. It wasn't her. It was   
Skinner's secretary, Grace McDaniel. She was wearing a dark dress as   
well...it was a little dark to be grey, a little light to be black. He   
chuckled softly. So she was protesting Valentine's Day as well, as she'd   
threatened to earlier in the month.  
  
He didn't like Valentine's Day. Not because he had something personal against   
it, but rather because he had no one to share it with. The friendly "dates"   
that had become an annual tradition between himself and Scully didn't really   
count. If he only had the nerve to ask her out!  
  
Grace drew up beside him. "How're you holding up, Mulder?"  
  
"I'm fine," he replied. Okay, he didn't like the day, but it wasn't as   
though he were *depressed*....   
  
Grace smiled at him--sympathetically, it seemed. "I wish I could lie half as   
well as you do."  
  
"Really, Grace," he insisted, "I'm fine. I'll just go home tonight, curl up   
with my video collection, and pretend like this whole day never happened."  
  
She took off her sunglasses as they approached the building, and he could see   
the very real hurt in her eyes--one that *didn't* come from the brightness of   
the sun. Maybe this was affecting her more than she was letting on. Maybe   
she...who knew? He hadn't spent excessive amounts of time with Grace, so he   
couldn't say for sure...hey, Skinner had just been complaining about not   
having anyone! Maybe Mulder could set his boss up with Grace...nah. It'd   
never work out.  
  
Come on, he thought, be realistic for once in your life!   
  
And where was Scully, anyway? She'd said she'd meet him there.  
  
With a sigh, he took off his own sunglasses, tucked them safely inside his   
suit jacket, and stepped inside the...cathedral? Huh? He could've sworn   
Scully had given him directions to the research facility she'd wanted to   
check out, but then again...she was...*Scully*. He couldn't even guess at   
the way her mind worked sometimes, but rather suspected the feeling was   
mutual. And she *was* Catholic...  
  
He and Grace exchanged a glance.  
  
"Here goes nothing," he sighed.  
  
"Or everything," she added.  
  
That too. I wish I could cheer her up. I've never seen Grace so   
pessimistic!  
  
And why was Grace even there in the first place? Oh, well...some questions   
might be best left unanswered...but he wanted some answers soon--forget   
conventional wisdom!  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Boston, Massachusetts  
  
Blowing a pesky strand of auburn hair out of her face, Dana Scully once again   
vowed her revenge on the smart aleck who had decided that the death of a   
martyr named St. Valentine was reason to make the day a romantic celebration.   
She'd purposely dressed in black, as Skinner's secretary had vowed to   
do...red may have been the color of the day, but she wasn't going to give   
anyone the pleasure.  
  
It surprised her that she was in such a mood over the day, though. Sure,   
being alone on Valentine's Day was no real treat, but she *did* have Mulder.   
And having a friend--scratch that, best friend--was certainly better than   
nothing. She had to admit it, those alien-shaped chocolates he had given her   
last year *were* kind of cute...if not exactly something she'd have bought   
herself.  
  
At Mulder's request, she'd accompanied him to Massachusetts a week   
ago--Chilmark, to be exact. He'd thought he'd found some more information on   
his sister Samantha's disappearance. He'd been called back to D.C.   
yesterday, but wanted her to follow up on one more lead for him. And she'd   
done it. Not out of duty or obligation...not because she felt she owed it to   
him...but because she'd *wanted* to. She was his friend. She wanted to find   
Samantha just as much as he did...although she was a bit more realistic about   
it than he was. But that was probably because he was so close to the case.   
Had it been one of her own siblings, she'd probably have been just as blind   
to the facts as he was.   
  
She'd intended to return to D.C. today and meet him at an Annapolis research   
facility, but she'd missed her plane. Just her luck, today of all days! At   
least it wasn't Friday the 13th or anything. That would have sent Mulder on   
a speech about the day that she'd have been hard-pressed to stop. Of course,   
Monday wasn't exactly her favorite day of the week, either. But that was   
only natural...right?  
  
She had decided to spend the time before she had to catch the next flight out   
(5 hours!) hanging around Boston. She'd never gotten much of a chance to see   
the city...and most of the time she and her partner had spent in the state   
had been in the Martha's Vineyard area--Chilmark, West Tisbury, the   
surrounding towns.  
  
But where was she now? Inside, that was for sure...but *where*? She   
couldn't believe she'd let her mind drift off *that* much. Fortunately, a   
man approached her. He seemed to know what was going on.  
  
"Miss Scully. You'll want to come this way, please."  
  
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."  
  
"It's no trouble," he replied. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Sure," Scully answered. "I was just a little...distracted for a moment."  
  
He patted her hand in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting   
manner. "Completely understandable. You've been through a lot."  
  
Yeah, in my life, perhaps. What's he talking about? Or is he just trying   
to pick me up?  
  
Not that the last part of that would have been such a bad thing. He *was*   
sort of cute...  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder and Grace were soon approached by the man they both worked for--each   
in their own way. And, of course, Grace was a little more likely not to tick   
the man off. But Mulder ticked a lot of people off, so that was something he   
was used to. The FBI's "most unwanted", the agency maverick...Fox Mulder   
would never be completely controlled. Not even by the certain female agent   
assigned to keep him in line and out of his superiors' hair.  
  
The man approaching was none other than Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner.   
He looked...well, Mulder wasn't entirely sure *how* he looked. Like his dog   
had run away or something. Okay, so maybe that wasn't a very apt comparison.   
But, then, Mulder didn't exactly specialize in apt comparisons (unless they   
somehow pertained to the extraterrestrial or otherwise strange).  
  
"Mulder," Skinner said simply. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm okay," Mulder answered. "Fortunately, this only has to be done once a   
year."  
  
Skinner nodded ruefully. "Unfortunately, in our line of work, that seems to   
be the case. God, I just wish it were someone else. I know that sounds   
awful, but I do."  
  
Mulder couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Believe me, sir...I know exactly   
how you feel."  
  
Skinner regarded him for a long moment. "You know, Fox, I honestly believe   
you do. You're probably one of the few that would."  
  
Now what on earth is *that* supposed to mean? Mulder wondered, slightly   
indignant. And 'Fox'?! Since when does he call me *Fox*? God, the only   
person who really calls me that is my mother...oh, yeah, and Margaret   
Scully.  
  
Funny he should think of Scully's mother just then, because she was there   
too. She looked as though a terrible tragedy had recently occurred in her   
life. Mulder crossed over to her, wondering what the problem was and hoping   
he could help. The last time he'd seen Margaret this upset was right after   
Melissa died. Hey, maybe this was why Scully had wanted him there. Where   
*was* she?!  
  
Mulder walked over to Margaret. "Mrs. Scully?"  
  
She pulled him into a tight embrace.  
  
"Oh, Fox..." she sighed. "I don't know what to do..."  
  
"Hey," he soothed, pulling away, "it's going to be all right. We'll make it   
out of this just fine." Out of what, he hadn't a clue. But it seemed like a   
good thing to say. He looked into her eyes...eyes that held a world of pain   
and too much hurt. She was crying, and he brushed the tears away. Mulder   
had always had a soft spot for Margaret...she was like another mother to him.   
The personification, almost, of the ideal mother--loving, patient, strong,   
and so much more. It tore at his heart to see her like this.  
  
Another man stood nearby, maybe a few years older than Mulder. The agent had   
never met him before, but felt as though he should've. The man regarded   
Mulder with a mixture of sympathy and respect.  
  
"You don't have to be so strong about this, you realize. I know how close   
you two were. Dana told me."  
  
With a quick glance around, all the pieces fell into place for Mulder. He   
mentally kicked himself.   
  
Oh, *that* was smart. Why didn't you realize it before, Sherlock? You're   
at a funeral.  
  
But whose? Scully had given him directions...he assumed it had to be someone   
she knew as well. That was made all the more likely by Margaret's   
presence-and the fact that Skinner and Grace were there too. And he was   
apparently close to this person.  
  
A sense of dread filled him. Who? Who could it be? Who else had he lost to   
this foolish game? They'd already taken his sister, abducted Scully,   
murdered his father. Who else? Who now? Or *had* this death been due to   
his allegiance? Had it been natural? Had it been an accident? What was   
going on here? And why couldn't he remember?  
  
Too many questions. Way too many questions. And not enough answers to go   
around.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Teena Mulder sat alone in the lobby, looking as lost (and depressed) as   
Scully felt. Scully was surprised to see her, but not precisely   
thunderstruck. After all, Boston wasn't that far from the Vineyard. And   
Teena still went up to the Vineyard fairly often, despite everything.  
  
"Mrs. Mulder?"  
  
Teena turned, and almost smiled--almost. "Miss Scully. I'm glad you could   
make it. I heard your flight left this morning."  
  
"I'm catching another one later," Scully replied, shrugging. "This hasn't   
really best the best of days for me."  
  
"I know how you feel, dear," Teena said, putting a hand on Scully's shoulder.   
"Truthfully, I do. I've seen this too many times in my life. But I'm still   
glad you're here. I know the two of you were very close."  
  
"Things *have* been a little strained lately," Scully admitted, correct in   
assuming that the older woman was alluding to the relationship between   
herself and Mulder, "but I never thought it was anything we couldn't work   
through. We *do* have our fights every now and then."  
  
"You're only human." Teena began to walk away, motioning for Scully to join   
her. "And with two such different personality types, the occasional   
argument...well, it was inevitable. Take my advice, Miss Scully. Don't beat   
yourself up over it. Don't torture yourself over all the things you might   
have done differently. I've spent too many years doing just that, and all it   
got me was a lot of sleepless nights. You were very special to him. You   
always have been."  
  
"He told you that?" Scully asked, her blue eyes widening. For as sweet and   
sensitive as he could be, verbally expressing his feelings was not one of   
Mulder's strengths.  
  
"Not in so many words," Teena answered, "but I could tell. A mother knows   
these things."  
  
They stepped into a room together, and Scully stopped short. There were a   
lot of people there...all dressed the same as they were. In black. A   
funeral? It certainly appeared that way, but whose? A fleeting look back at   
Teena confirmed that this was indeed the correct place. A tear slipped down   
Teena's cheek. Oh, God. Had they finally found Samantha--only to discover   
that she was dead? Was that why Mulder had left her here...because the truth   
was too painful for him to face? She fervently hoped not. Samantha couldn't   
be dead...she just couldn't. But if not Samantha, then who?  
  
Scully took another step inside, bracing herself for whatever was to come.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder approached the casket, Margaret by his side. His need to know   
prevailed over his apprehension about finding out. Margaret squeezed his   
hand.  
  
Mulder looked. Suddenly, all the breath rushed out of him, and he stumbled   
backward in a combination of shock and horror. Margaret helped him to sit,   
suddenly having become the comforter instead of the comforted.   
  
It was his worst nightmare come to life. The one thing he had hoped never in   
his life to have to face.  
  
It was Scully.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
  
Scully's surprise over finding herself at a funeral was only superseded by   
her surprise at also finding Walter Skinner there.   
  
"Sir?" she asked, hopelessly trying to make sense of it all.  
  
He hugged her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know how tough this has to be   
for you."  
  
Teena had already wandered off by this time, so she wasn't going to be much   
help.   
  
While Scully was puzzling over this, Skinner continued talking. She forced   
herself to concentrate on what it was he was saying.  
  
"I've worked with a lot of people over the years, Dana..."  
  
Dana? she wondered, amused. What's going on with that? He's only   
called me Dana maybe once or twice before. Amusement gave way to   
apprehension once she remembered that it had only happened when something was   
wrong. Very wrong.  
  
"...and many of them have been very good..."  
  
Scully nodded, hoping it looked as though she'd been paying attention the   
entire time. Skinner went on.  
  
"But believe me when I tell you this...out of all the people I've had working   
under me...Fox Mulder was definitely one of the best."  
  
It took a few seconds for the implications of his words to hit home. But   
then, Scully realized it. Realized what, exactly, was happening there.  
  
And she fainted.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Walter Skinner observed the situation passively, debating his own feelings on   
the whole matter. Scully's death had shaken him...maybe not so much as it   
had her mother--or Mulder--but it had definitely affected him. He'd seen   
entirely too much death in his life--first in Vietnam, then in the FBI.   
Unfortunately, with the work he'd found himself tied to...the "shadow   
government" Mulder so actively pursued...the killers were rarely caught.   
And, even if they were, they were rarely brought to justice.   
  
If you've got enough power, I suppose you really *can* get away with murder   
sometimes, Skinner mused. Or at least get away with hiring somebody to   
do it for you.  
  
He turned just in time to see Scully's mother helping Mulder to sit down.   
The agent looked shocked, horrified...the same way he'd looked just after his   
partner had been killed. Had it finally hit him? That wasn't an unlikely   
scenario.   
  
If there was one thing Skinner had learned on this subject throughout the   
years, it was that the mind seldom accepted things it didn't want to   
believe...at least not right off the bat.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Walter Skinner quickly found himself with an armful of Dana Scully. He   
caught her fast, before she could hit the floor, and momentarily wondered   
just what he was going to do next. Once he regained his senses, Skinner   
picked her up. He lifted her slight form into his arms as easily as he would   
a child. She was so tiny, now that he actually considered it...  
  
It made him wonder how this woman had ever decided that the FBI was the right   
place to her to make the difference she so desperately wanted to make.   
Scully loved her work...but with her partner's cruel fate, would that now   
change? With all she'd survived, all she'd been through...had it been Mulder   
convincing her to stay all along? Just by his very presence? In one moment,   
could all of that have changed?  
  
If there was one thing Skinner had learned through his association with the   
X-Files, it was that nothing was impossible.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Margaret Scully eased Fox Mulder down into a seat. Her heart went out to   
him. She'd lost her daughter...and he'd lost his best friend. Not that   
there was really any form of comparison between the two, but Fox had been   
extraordinarily close to Dana. A bond such as the one that existed between   
them couldn't be broken except by death. That had happened, but some shards   
of the broken dreams still remained...they always would. And, most   
importantly, Dana's memory would live on. What was it someone had said about   
death once? "Death is a state in which we exist only in the memories of   
others, so it's not really an end. No goodbyes, just good memories." Gone   
but not forgotten indeed.  
  
There was only one thing Margaret couldn't figure out, though--why Fox had   
seemed so shocked to see Dana. Maybe part of it was denial...not wanting to   
accept the fact that she was truly gone...but even that explanation was   
somewhat lacking. How could he not remember? After all, he'd been right in   
the middle of it.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Margaret Scully rushed over as she saw her daughter collapse. She followed   
Skinner out into the hallway, and kneeled beside him as he gently laid Dana   
on the floor.   
  
Poor thing. She'd taken Fox's death awfully hard...not that Margaret had   
honestly expected any less. The two of them were so close...they had an   
incredible bond. And now that bond had been broken--snapped suddenly,   
without any prior warning.   
  
Dana would survive, of course--she'd always been a survivor. And she'd have   
her memories. That helped. Having lost too many people in her lifetime   
already, Margaret knew that sometimes, the memories were all that sustained   
you.  
  
Only one thing puzzled her. Why had Dana been so surprised? She'd been   
right there when it had happened.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Breathe, Mulder told himself slowly, still recovering from the jolt he'd   
just received. For God's sake, just *breathe*.  
  
He didn't want to attempt anything more difficult just yet.  
  
"Are you okay?" Margaret asked him.  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, I, uh--I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."  
  
"Of course, Fox."   
  
He didn't really mind her use of his first name. Actually, it made her seem   
even more like his mother...  
  
The man who'd been with Margaret earlier came over and sat beside Mulder.   
The agent looked over at him.   
  
"Excuse me, but I don't believe we've met."  
  
"We haven't. And to tell you the truth, I sure wish we weren't meeting here."  
  
Amen to *that*, Mulder thought.  
  
The guy continued. "I know that you and my sister were really close. And,   
actually, I wanted to thank you for always being there for her when I   
couldn't be. You meant a lot to her, you know, Mulder. She'd have given her   
life for you."  
  
"Yeah," Mulder muttered bitterly. "Well, she certainly gave her life for   
*something*." He'd pretty much figured out by now that this was Scully's   
other brother, the younger one... he couldn't remember the name.   
  
Scully's brother seemed to pick up on this. "My name's Charles."  
  
Charles. Okay. Charles. Mulder had heard Scully mention Charles   
before...and now, when they finally met, Scully was gone. Forever gone. It   
wasn't fair. "Nice to meet you," Mulder said. His tone was sincere, his   
expression an absent one. He meant what he'd said...but there was so much   
weighing on his mind just then--so much he had to process so suddenly.  
  
And one question remained in his mind above all others. He had to know.  
  
"How did she die?"  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
When Scully gradually blinked her eyes open again, she found herself staring   
at the ceiling. Voices talked nearby, moderately hushed. She couldn't quite   
make out the words...  
  
She tried to sit up, cautiously, and felt a hand on her shoulder. She was   
also able to see the sources of the voices. Her mother knelt on one side of   
her, Skinner on the other. Both looked concerned.  
  
"Dana, sweetheart," her mother began, "are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Scully managed, "I'm fine. I'll be okay. How long was I out?"  
  
"A minute or two," Skinner answered. "Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," Scully repeated, getting to her feet. Skinner helped her.  
  
Men's voices drifted to them from down the hall. Scully would've recognized   
the voices anywhere. And, frankly, she was grateful for their presence.   
Normally, they drove her to the brink of insanity, but right now, they could   
provide some answers. And, perhaps, a small amount of solace.  
  
Langly was, as always, wearing a T-shirt. This one, however, had the print   
of a tuxedo on it. Byers was wearing a suit, true to form...while Frohike   
had traded the usual grey shirt under his black leather jacket for a black   
one.  
  
Scully's mother and Skinner moved off, sensing that she wanted to be alone   
with the Lone Gunmen.   
  
Scully half-smiled, which was the best she could manage right about then.   
She tried to lighten the mood somewhat--anything to alleviate the despair she   
was feeling. "Don't you boys have anything else in your closets?"  
  
Frohike merely raised an eyebrow, and continued to look at her. "Don't   
*you*?"  
  
Scully looked down at her own attire. "I guess you've got a point there."  
  
Byers put a hand on her shoulder. "How are you?"  
  
"I'll live," she sighed. "Story of my life, you know."  
  
Langly's hair, predictably, looked as though he'd washed it in a blender. It   
was comforting to know that some things *didn't* change. "Yeah. I still   
half expect to find out that this was all someone's idea of a really sick   
joke."  
  
"Me too," Scully admitted, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly. Any other   
time, she'd have pulled away when Frohike put a hand on her arm, but now she   
found herself needing the support of a human touch.   
  
"Is there anything we can do?" Byers asked.  
  
She nodded languidly. "Just one thing. There's just one thing I have to   
know."  
  
"What's that?" Frohike asked.  
  
Scully looked at them, her blue eyes glistening with tears yet to be shed.   
"What happened? How did he die?"  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"You really don't remember?" Charles asked.  
  
Mulder shook his head. "No--I don't. I can't remember a thing about it.   
I--I have to know, Charles."  
  
"Understandable," Charles allowed. "Are you sure you're all right, though?   
I can't believe you don't remember."  
  
"I'm okay," Mulder insisted. "Please, just tell me what happened."  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Langly put his hand on Scully's shoulder, as Byers moved closer. Both looked   
concerned. Scully couldn't quite see Frohike's face, but the way his grip on   
her arm changed...she could tell he was worried too.  
  
"You don't remember?" Langly asked, a lock of his long blond hair falling   
diagonally across his face. He blew it away impatiently.  
  
"No," Scully replied. "Really, I don't. I need to know, you guys. If he's   
dead, I at least want to know how he died. I haven't got a clue--do you   
realize how *frustrating* that is?" She realized a second later she was on   
the verge of going into a tirade, and quit there.  
  
Frohike spoke next. "Dana, honey--you were smack dab in the center of   
things. You don't remember anything about it?"  
  
"I just said that!" She decided to ignore the "honey" and his use of her   
first name for the time being.  
  
"Okay, calm down," Byers said, his voice soothing. It mildly irritated her.   
She didn't *want* to feel better! Her partner was *dead*, for God's sake!   
  
"We'll fill you in. Just come over here...sit down."   
  
Scully followed him, allowing herself to be led over to a seat. The Lone   
Gunmen began to tell her the tragic story.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"Now I wasn't there, of course," Charles began, "so I'm just telling you what   
was told to me."  
  
"I'll take it," Mulder said, a hint of desperation edging its way into his   
voice. "Please, just tell me."  
  
"Okay...now where do I begin?" Charles wondered aloud.  
  
"How about the beginning?" Mulder suggested. It seemed as good a place as   
any.  
  
"Sounds logical enough," Charles agreed.  
  
As Mulder listened to Charles tell the story, something happened. He began   
to remember.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
As the Lone Gunmen filled Scully in on the events surrounding Mulder's death,   
a funny thing occurred.  
  
It all started coming back to her.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Cautiously, Mulder crept down the darkened alleyway, Scully close behind him.   
He didn't like it here. He didn't like the ominous silence that seemed to   
hang overhead. He didn't like the implications. But he'd come searching for   
the truth, and he wanted to find it. No danger could turn him back from   
*that* mission. And, as much as he hated to willingly drag Scully into a   
situation he knew to be perilous, he needed her. As she'd informed him any   
number of times before, his taking on these cases alone usually ended up with   
his getting hurt. That didn't mean he hadn't warned her beforehand--he'd   
learned the hazards of not doing that long ago.  
  
Alex Krycek was back. And he had an associate this time. A man of German   
descent named Rutger Lawson. Mulder couldn't say for sure, but he was   
positively convinced that Lawson was the neo-Nazi type. He just acted that   
way. Krycek had promised some information he'd gleaned from the stolen   
digital tape, the MJ files--information pertaining to Samantha's   
disappearance. And Krycek had lied, as usual. Nothing surprising about   
that. Mulder had still gotten *some* information from another source,   
however--that same day, by sheer coincidence. He and Scully were leaving for   
Chilmark, Massachusetts the next morning to follow the lead. But first, this   
little matter had to be taken care of.  
  
Mulder felt Scully stiffen in back of him. When she spoke, her voice was   
hushed. "I don't think we're alone here, Mulder. I just heard footsteps."  
  
"Lawson?" Mulder questioned.  
  
"Maybe," Scully answered, so softly that only Mulder could hear her. "I   
don't know. I didn't see him."  
  
"It had better not be Krycek," Mulder hissed. "If it is, I'll kill him."  
  
Scully gave him *that* look--the one she always gave him when she thought he   
was getting a little too carried away with himself. "For God's sake,   
Mulder--we're the FBI, not the *Mafia*! We both know he was probably   
involved when Duane Barry kidnapped me. I know you're still trying to get   
even with him for killing your father, and Lord knows *I'd* have more than a   
few things to say about his being an accomplice to Missy's murder...but the   
law doesn't exactly see revenge as justifiable homicide!"  
  
"Okay, okay, I won't kill him," Mulder promised. "I'll just hurt him a   
little."  
  
"Mulder..."  
  
"In a nice way, of course," Mulder covered.  
  
Scully couldn't quite hide a grin. "You are absolutely impossible, Mulder."  
  
"It's part of my charm."  
  
She didn't reply to that, instead focusing her attention on an area at the   
end of the alley. "I'm going to check out that crawlspace over there."  
  
Mulder didn't like the looks of it. "That's okay, Scully, I'll do it."  
  
"Don't be so stubborn, Mulder," Scully argued. "It's going to be a tight fit   
for *me*. I'll be careful."   
  
She hated it when she felt he was being overprotective of her, but Mulder   
felt he couldn't help it sometimes. They were so much a part of each other.   
He'd die for her, if necessary--no second thoughts. Of course, he sincerely   
hoped it would never come to *that*. Her abduction several years ago had   
forced him to realize just how much she meant to him--as a partner and a   
friend. If anything were ever to happen to her...  
  
Before he could protest again, she was gone. She wouldn't have taken no for   
an answer anyhow. He kept an eye out...wary, watchful. He had the strangest   
feeling that something was going to happen--and it wasn't going to be good.   
And, in these cases, his instincts were rarely mistaken. They didn't call   
him "Spooky" for nothing.  
  
Seconds later, Mulder heard running footsteps--Scully, and someone else.   
Krycek or Lawson? Maybe neither. He heard Scully call his name, sounding   
worried. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? He rushed off in the   
direction of her voice, but the next sound he heard momentarily paralyzed   
him. A scream. Scully's. Not a scream of fear, but an awful, pain-filled   
scream. Then more running--but only one person.   
  
The agent turned the corner just in time to see Rutger Lawson sprinting away,   
but--by far--that was the least of his concerns.   
  
Scully was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, an ever-increasing pool of   
blood beneath her.  
  
Mulder immediately dropped to one knee beside her, and turned her over as   
delicately as he could. Scully moaned softly, in pain. She was still   
conscious, but just barely. She was just barely alive.   
  
Mulder tried to access the damage. She had been stabbed several times--four   
or five, at least. Lawson worked fast, apparently. There was blood   
everywhere. He didn't even have time to take off his jacket to try to stop   
the bleeding; he had to use his bare hands.   
  
As Mulder put pressure on the worst of the lacerations, Scully winced. He   
knew she was probably in agony, but she couldn't stand to lose any more   
blood. She didn't need to lose what she'd already lost. He pulled out his   
cell phone with one hand and called an ambulance. "Emergency"... "agent   
down"...the words were all too familiar--and frightening as ever.  
  
Scully tried to lift her head. Her lips moved, but Mulder couldn't make out   
what she was saying. He bent his head down, straining desperately to hear.  
  
"Mulder..." she murmured.  
  
"What?" he asked, using his free hand to brush a blood-soaked lock of hair   
from her face. It was nearly crimson now, the gorgeous auburn color made   
that much more red by the fluid that was so vital to life. She was losing   
blood faster than Mulder could control it. Blood...so much blood. Lawson   
must've hit an artery...the celiac, perhaps? No--it was too close to the   
extension of the aorta...she'd be losing even more blood than she was now, if   
such a thing were possible. The inferior...(oh, what was it?)   
inferior--messentera!-- (or was it mesenteric?) seemed a little more   
likely...it had been much too long since biology class. He was amazed he'd   
even recalled this much--adrenaline did funny things to people.  
  
"Remember..." Scully managed. "Always, I..." she trailed off, trying to find   
the strength to go on. She was fading fast--where were the paramedics?!  
  
"What is it?" Mulder asked her, gently. He knew she needed to save her   
strength, but he also had to know what it was she was trying to tell him.  
  
"We've always been...so much more..."  
  
More than what? More than partners? More than friends? Mulder wondered,   
but he never found out. As slowly and softly as a child falling asleep,   
Scully closed her eyes. Her head fell to one side.   
  
And then she was gone.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Everything was going well enough, right then at least.  
  
Scully sighed softly, climbed into the passenger's seat of the rented Ford   
Taurus, and shut the door. Was it just her, or did it seem like they   
*always* ended up renting a Taurus? Who knew? She looked over at her   
partner, who--characteristically--was lost in thought. "Hey, Mulder! Want   
me to drive?"  
  
"Oh, no, it's fine," he insisted, quickly snapping out of his self-induced   
trance. "Besides, Scully, I know my way around Boston better than you do."  
  
"That's true," Scully allowed. "As long as you don't give me that crap about   
my 'little feet' not being big enough to reach the pedals!"  
  
"Now would *I* do that to you...again?" Mulder's expression was pure   
innocence. He turned the car on, and started driving.  
  
They'd been in Massachusetts for about a day and a half. After kibitzing   
around Chilmark for some leads, Mulder had declared his intention to show   
Scully the more interesting side of his youth...or at least some of Boston's   
more appealing diversions. She wasn't quite sure what she was in for--and,   
furthermore, wasn't sure she wanted to know. Sometimes, Mulder could be   
so...well, 'spooky' was a good word for it, though she doubted he'd have   
appreciated her saying so. That man was understood by only a chosen   
few--herself not included.  
  
They turned a corner. One of the street lights was out, making the road look   
that much more dark and foreboding.   
  
"Um...Mulder?" Scully asked warily. "Are you sure this place is safe after   
dark?"  
  
"Sure it is," he assured her. "I know it *looks* rough--it's the lighting.   
This is really one of the better sides of town. Trust me on this one."  
  
"Always," she responded, her voice a little *too* candy-coated. He gave her   
a look, but said nothing as she proceeded to lock the vehicle's doors.  
  
"Just in case."  
  
"Of *course*, Scully. What are so you worried about, anyway? I know for a   
fact that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself in just about   
any situation. We work in *Washington, D.C.*, for goodness' sake! You live   
in Georgetown; you're a trained FBI agent--and, besides which, you've   
survived so much that I'm starting to wonder if you're even able to die!"  
  
"I just have a bad feeling about this, is all," Scully contended.  
  
"Leave those to me, all right? I've got a reputation to uphold."  
  
Scully couldn't help but smile at the devil-may-care gleam in his eye.   
"Mulder, you're hopeless."  
  
"So I've been told."  
  
She paused a moment. "And what do you mean, 'not able to die'?"  
  
Mulder was about to answer when he slowed down the car, and eyed the next   
bend carefully. "You know, back when I was a teenager, a couple of my   
friends used to call this 'Dead Man's Curve'."  
  
"*What?!*"  
  
"Calm down. There was really no understanding Aaron and Debra. In any case,   
they were also addicted to a certain song by the same name."  
  
"Then why'd you mention it?"  
  
"Oh...reminiscence. Memories. You know."  
  
No, I don't, Scully thought, but that's okay. With you, my friend, I   
*never* know.  
  
He turned the corner, and Scully was barely beginning to relax when a black   
Dodge Neon swerved at them from out of nowhere. Mulder muttered a few choice   
words under his breath, and jerked the car into a hard turn, trying to   
compensate.  
  
Almost, but not quite. The words flashed through Scully's mind inexplicably   
as she realized that Mulder's driving skills, good as they were, weren't   
enough to counterbalance the actions of the other (apparently psychotic)   
driver. She wasted a valuable second trying to figure out where she'd heard   
that before, but then reason came back to her, and she all but yelled at   
Mulder, imploring him to move the car.  
  
"I'm *trying*!" he acknowledged.  
  
Newton's laws of physics kicked in as an outside force definitely had an   
effect on the forward motion of the Taurus. As the windshield broke, Scully   
turned her face away from the shattering glass, and closed her eyes. She   
could hear the tires squealing; she caught the sound of twisting metal. She   
felt pieces of glass rake across her unprotected lower arm, felt her body   
slamming up against the car door. But what concerned her most was the last   
thing she perceived as the world around her came--quite literally--crashing   
down. Mulder's soft moan beside her. Weak, but intensely painful. A small   
amount of his blood trickled onto her hand. Her mind decided then and there   
that between this and the blow to the head she'd just received, there was   
simply too much information to be processed at one time, thank you very much.   
So she blacked out, allowing the blessed darkness to take her for a short   
time.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
He cradled her limp body in his arms, holding her as though sheer force of   
human will could breathe life back into her body, bring back a sparkle to the   
blue eyes that had once blazed so brightly.  
  
The paramedics *did* arrive--very soon after that, in fact. They worked on   
her for what seemed like hours, trying to bring her back...but it was all to   
no avail.  
  
Mulder watched, almost dumbfounded, as one of the paramedics scribbled his   
notes on the case.   
  
Resuscitation attempts failed... he thought, trying to muster up as much   
clinical detachment as possible--and failing miserably. "D.O.A." I   
must've seen those words a thousand times before. Never bothered me before.   
After all, I work in law enforcement. It's all part of the job description.   
I never gave it a second thought. But now I can't keep my mind off it. Now   
it's personal. But why Scully? Why *her*?  
  
Some questions would never be answered. His partner--the woman he entrusted   
his life to every day, the woman who had become the best friend he'd ever   
had--was dead. Killed by an "unknown assassin"...at least that's what the   
official reports would say. But Mulder knew it had been Rutger Lawson.   
Lawson would never leave enough clues to convict himself--but Mulder knew   
beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lawson had been the one to deal Dana Scully   
her final blow. And Mulder was going to make him pay.  
  
Even if it were the last thing he ever did.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
*Oh*...something tells me this is just *not* my day... The words echoed   
through Scully's mind as she came to consciousness. She tried to lift her   
head and groaned quietly when she was rewarded for her efforts by a throbbing   
headache. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. There was   
something warm and thick running in her eyes. Pressing a hand to her face,   
Scully realized that it was blood--from a cut on her forehead.  
  
"Mulder?" she asked inquiringly, using her jacket to wipe away the blood.   
She hadn't yet looked in his direction. "You okay?"  
  
He didn't answer. Dabbing away the final traces of blood still oozing from   
the wound, Scully turned to her partner. She gasped and dropped the edge of   
her jacket, unconsciously switching into her "medical" mode. Hastily, she   
unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and got out. She crossed   
around the Taurus to better enable her to help Mulder. Her ankle protested   
the movement--she must've twisted it in the wreck.  
  
Scully opened the driver's-side door, and leaned in. "Mulder...can you hear   
me? Oh, God...just hang on, okay? You're going to be all right."  
  
A young woman, seeing the accident, rushed over to offer assistance. "Oh, my   
God...is there anything I can do?"  
  
Scully pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and handed it to the woman.   
"Yeah, here. Call an ambulance."  
  
Nodding, the lady took the phone and placed the call.   
  
Scully, meanwhile, overlooked the situation in order to see what she needed   
to tend to first. Mulder seemed to be breathing okay for now...a cut on his   
arm was bleeding heavily. That had to be controlled. She pulled off her   
jacket and applied pressure. His other arm was at such an odd angle...it had   
to be broken. A sharp piece of metal had ripped diagonally across his face,   
leaving a jagged cut.  
  
The blood soaked through her jacket...the bleeding wasn't letting up. Med   
school had taught her to only use a tourniquet as a last resort...but the   
situation was getting desperate. And desperate times called for equally   
desperate measures. With one hand, she ripped a strip of cloth off the   
bottom of her blouse, and used that. The bleeding slowed to a small trickle.   
But she couldn't leave it on too long. Of course, she also couldn't take it   
off until they got to a hospital. She hoped the EMT's would get there soon.  
  
Mulder blinked his eyes open for just a second, and they looked soulfully at   
one another for a moment before he lost consciousness again.  
  
The woman who'd been helping them out came up behind Scully, and put the cell   
phone in her purse for her, seeing that the agent's hands were otherwise   
occupied. "Can I help you at all? I'm a nurse. My name's Vicki. Vicki   
Bennett."  
  
Scully spared a fraction of a second to look back at Vicki before returning   
her attention to her wounded partner. "That works out well enough--I'm a   
doctor. Could you help me find something to splint his arm with?"  
  
"Sure." Vicki scrounged around the area and quickly located a small board.   
Not ideal, but it would work for then. "Now we just need something to secure   
it with...wait a minute. I've got an idea. Her eyes widened with   
inspiration, and she proceeded to pull two ribbons out of her purse.  
  
After they'd applied the makeshift splint, Scully took a step back to survey   
the situation. Vicki watched her carefully for a reaction, which she got   
once they heard a siren in the distance.  
  
"Good," Scully sighed, wanting to believe it was the help they'd summoned,   
"they're almost here. We've got to get him to the hospital." She reached   
out and rested two fingers on Mulder's neck, checking his pulse again.   
Swearing softly, she tried checking it in his wrist, then back at the   
carotid. "God, *no*. Mulder..."  
  
Thinking quickly, Scully unbuckled the seat belt, and enlisted Vicki's help   
in getting him out of the car. She hadn't wanted to move him yet, but she no   
longer had a choice. Not if she wanted him to live.  
  
As she started CPR, Scully could hear the ambulance pulling up. The   
paramedics allowed her to continue while they got their equipment ready and   
charged. Completing a cycle, Scully paused to check Mulder's pulse again.   
No change.  
  
"It's not working," she hissed, sounding as defeated as she felt, and moving   
back to let the medics work on him. They tried to revive him, tried all the   
measures available to them. Nothing worked.  
  
"He's gone," one of the EMT's announced flatly, regret evident in his voice.   
"I'm sorry."  
  
"No," Scully whispered, her voice sounding choked with dirt from the grave.   
"No, we can't give up!" She moved closer, intending to start CPR again, but   
Vicki gently eased her back.  
  
"It's too late," Vicki told her, sympathy filling the words. "I'm so sorry."   
In the short time the nurse had met these two, she had been able to sense   
their emotional closeness, the depth of their bond.   
  
But Scully didn't hear the latter words. "No," she whispered again, the word   
almost having become something of a mantra to her. "No, no, it can't be,   
this isn't happening. Not now. Not like this. Not after all we've been   
through." She began to cry, and no one could do anything to console her.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Charles looked at Mulder, deep blue eyes meeting green. "You remember now,   
don't you?"  
  
The agent nodded. "Yeah, it came back to me--in all-too-vivid detail,   
unfortunately. How could you tell?"  
  
Charles shrugged. "Wasn't too hard. You're not exactly transparent, but you   
kind of faded out a few minutes ago--it was obvious you were remembering   
*something*. It didn't take much to guess what that something was."  
  
Margaret rejoined them then, making a clear effort to keep herself together.   
"I still don't believe it. I want to believe this is all some kind of   
horrible dream, but..."  
  
"Don't worry, Mrs. Scully," Mulder assured Margaret, putting an arm around   
her shoulders, "I'll find him. I'm going to find him and I'm going to make   
him pay."  
  
"Find who?" Margaret asked.  
  
"The man who did this to her."  
  
She looked up at him, teary-eyed, daring to hope. "But they said they don't   
*know* who it was. That they probably won't be able to find him."  
  
"*I* know who it was," Mulder told her. "His name's Rutger Lawson. I'm not   
sure how to find him--but I will. I promise you that. I owe it to Dana. I   
owe it to myself."  
  
"Just don't get yourself into anything you can't handle, Fox," Margaret   
advised. "I want to see justice served just a much as you do. But I don't   
want you getting hurt."  
  
"I'll be careful," Mulder promised, standing up. He walked back to the side   
of his fallen companion. She was still beautiful, even in death. Fiery   
auburn hair framed a perfect porcelain cheek, and she looked so...well,   
peaceful. It was a side of her he had rarely been able to see. He wished he   
weren't seeing it now, like this. He sensed, rather than saw, Margaret join   
him.  
  
"Maybe it's just maternal prejudice," she began, "but I swear, even now...she   
still looks like an angel."  
  
"Yeah," Mulder agreed, thinking the description perfectly appropriate, "she   
*does* look like an angel." He sighed softly--a sigh filled with   
grief-tinged angst. "A sleeping angel." He brushed his hand across her   
cheek, then bent down, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry; I tried."  
  
"I know you did," Margaret replied, thinking his words had been intended for   
her. "It wasn't your fault. You did what you could; don't blame yourself   
for that."  
  
"'What I could'," Mulder echoed, his voice turning bitter. "I couldn't   
really *do* much of anything."  
  
"You called an ambulance," Margaret offered. "You tried to stop the   
bleeding."  
  
"Anybody with half a brain could've done that." Mulder pushed a boyish lock   
of hair away from his brow. "I didn't really do much for her except be   
holding her when she died."  
  
"You never know, Fox," Margaret encouraged him, walking away. "Maybe that   
was all she really wanted."  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  



	2. Part 2

XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully opened her eyes, trying to push away the terrible memories. Frohike's   
hand had moved from Scully's arm to her shoulder, but--for once--she didn't   
mind.  
  
"I'm okay," Scully whispered, squeezing his hand just slightly, and fighting   
her tears. "I, uh...oh, who am I trying to fool? I'm not okay. I'm having   
a really tough time absorbing this."  
  
"That's perfectly natural," Byers assured her.   
  
She barely heard him, though.   
  
"You're remembering, aren't you?" Langly asked. Scully just nodded. No   
other explanation was necessary. The Lone Gunmen understood. They, of all   
people, knew the depth of the unique relationship that had existed between   
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder--if anyone really did.  
  
Frohike let go of her hand, taking a step back as Scully walked off. He   
really cared for her--even if it wasn't the love he thought it was. She was   
so broken up about this...he wished there were something he could do. He   
wasn't alone, though.  
  
Scully managed to get through the rest of the funeral, somehow...teary-eyed,   
staring blankly ahead. It was her only coping mechanism--just not thinking   
about it. She thought it divine intervention that she didn't completely fall   
apart.  
  
When it was over, she stood alone again with the Lone Gunmen, after bidding   
her mother and Skinner goodbye. Her mother had wanted to stay with her, but   
Scully had told her that wouldn't be necessary; she'd be all right. In all   
honesty, she didn't want to have to face the sympathy-filled looks she knew   
her mother would be giving her. The less she had to remind her that her   
partner was gone--and that he wasn't coming back this time--the better.   
  
Scully looked from Frohike to Byers, then behind her at Langly. "C'mon, you   
guys, let's go. I don't really feel like sticking around here."  
  
"Yeah," Frohike agreed. "You're not the only one who's sick of it."  
  
As it turned out, she hadn't driven herself, but caught a ride with her   
mother, so she decided to head back to her hotel with the Gunmen.   
Coincidentally (or perhaps not), they were staying there too--albeit on a   
different floor. Scully got into the van, and sat in the back, next to the   
most adoring of her "public".   
  
It just so happened that she had to go into her purse for something a minute   
later, and when she did, it was just her luck that the first thing she saw   
was a picture. Of her and Mulder. As "Rob" and "Laura", from their Arcadia   
case. They were smiling, happy--the perfect yuppie couple. It was too much   
for her to handle at the moment. She began to sob softly. Frohike reached   
out to her, and she collapsed into his arms, weeping bitterly for the partner   
she'd lost.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
***TWO DAYS LATER***  
February 16  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"Another day, another dollar, another chance to allow the whole world to tick   
you off," Mulder muttered to himself, waking up to one the most beautiful   
February mornings Arlington, Virginia, had to offer. The sunlight was   
streaming in through his window; there was barely a cloud in the sky. And   
this was really getting on his nerves, as nothing else ever could. He was   
angry at the injustice of the world, and then it had to go and be so freaking   
pretty! Pretty, as in attractive, as in downright gorgeous...like a certain   
someone he couldn't seem to push out of his thoughts. By sheer dumb luck, he   
happened to glance over at the top of his entertainment center and see a   
picture. A picture that had been taken in much happier days--shortly before   
Scully had learned of her cancer. Before that stupid fight they'd   
had...before everything had started going...well, going wrong. Not that   
things had ever been completely right in the first place...  
  
In the photograph, she was leaning back against him contentedly, smiling that   
cute, sweet, enigmatic little half-smile of hers. She didn't seem to have a   
care in the world, if only for that one precious moment. Mulder desperately   
wanted that moment back. He slammed the photo frame against the wood,   
shattering the glass. "It's not fair...it's just not fair." How many times   
had he said those words over the past two days? How many times had he   
thought them? Far too many to count, that was for sure.   
  
Someone knocked on his door.   
  
"Leave me alone," he called out, not caring if the person on the other side   
was the President of the United States, or even God Almighty Himself. Okay,   
so maybe in the latter event, he might have cared. He had a few complaints   
in the "handling of human affairs" department.  
  
Of course, it wasn't either one. It was Marita Corruvbias. Mulder stopped   
dead in his tracks when he saw her through the peephole, and almost forgot to   
open the door in his shock. It had been a very long time since he'd seen her   
last.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, after he finally had opened the door.  
  
Marita grinned slyly, pushing a shock of pale blonde hair away from her face.   
"And hello to you too, Agent Mulder," was her wry reply. "Mind if I come   
in?"  
  
"Yeah, sure...of course." Mulder stepped back to let her in. "What brings   
you here?"  
  
"I heard about Agent Scully," Marita answered, stepping in to shut the door   
behind her. "I came by to express my sympathies. I'd have come to the   
funeral, but it would have been too high profile for me--I trust you   
understand."  
  
Mulder nodded, still a little surprised. Marita was definitely more   
sympathetic than his last informant, X...if not exactly around as often.   
Deep Throat had a little more compassion for the agent and his   
interests...but he'd also been a friend of the family for years   
beforehand...never mind. Marita was here, it was now, and she hadn't come   
all the way from New York City just to say she was sorry about Scully's   
death. "Is there something else?"  
  
"Always so suspicious, Mulder..." Marita sighed, more to herself than Mulder.   
"That's not necessarily a bad thing, though. Keeps you alive sometimes.   
Well, in any case, you're right. There *is* something else."   
  
"And that would be...?"   
  
"I know where Alex Krycek is. And he probably knows where Lawson is. Are   
you interested?"  
  
Mulder couldn't believe his luck--if you wanted to call it that. "Of course   
I am. Why didn't you just call me, though?"  
  
"I had some business in Washington," Marita replied breezily, not really   
wanting to discuss it. Or perhaps she wasn't at liberty to. She *did* work   
for the UN... "In any case, Mulder, you'll want to be heading to Alexandria."  
  
"You say that like it's such a long trip." Mulder half-grinned--the closest   
he'd come to smiling since Scully's death. "Alexandria's, like, five minutes   
from here...could he *be* that stupid?"  
  
"Sometimes the most ridiculous place to hide is the best," Marita advised.   
"I believe he's taken a room at the Embassy Suites."  
  
"The one on Diagonal Road?" Mulder asked.  
  
"That's the one," Marita confirmed. "He has an alias--Nicky Leanski. Try   
it. I'm giving you this information because I want to help...and I want a   
small measure of revenge."  
  
"Revenge?"  
  
"You know what they say about a woman scorned, Mr. Mulder."  
  
Mulder had intended to inquire further into the exact relationship been   
Marita Corruvbias and Alex Krycek, but at that point decided he no longer had   
any great need to know. He stepped closer to Marita. "Tell me what you   
know."  
  
The UN operative chuckled softly. "I knew you'd be interested. Let's sit.   
This might take a few minutes."  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
I've been so dizzy since you've gone  
Those spinning tires that took your life...  
Well, they crashed my world too.  
Now I'm playing Russian Roulette,  
Hoping that I'll win--  
'Cause it's so hard to take  
This new life I'm living in.  
Ironic how that spinning killed us both...  
The wheels on your car...  
This pretty spinning bullet could take me home.  
It's just like when I touched your sleeping face  
(The barrel), cold and stiff.  
I could squeeze your "hand",  
And--bang--be on my way.  
I love you.  
  
--R.S.  
  
Scully sat at the kitchen table in her apartment, taking care of the "simple   
things"...the everyday, mindless tasks... Funny, now they seemed to require   
a tremendous amount of effort. Since Mulder had died, everything seemed to   
require a tremendous amount of effort--including breathing. There wasn't a   
moment that went by that she didn't think of him, didn't wish she had the   
whole horrible day to do over. She'd have stalled him, she'd have insisted   
in driving...she'd have done *something*. But the past was the past, and she   
knew one couldn't change the past, even for all the wishful thinking in the   
world.   
  
At least she knew it intellectually. The emotional side of her psyche was   
having a harder time grasping the concept.  
  
She was cleaning her gun...it was something she could do fairly   
automatically. It didn't require a lot of thought. Mindless fluff it may   
not have been, but she had never really liked mindless fluff. She needed to   
at least feel she'd accomplished something during the day.  
  
Her mother was staying at the apartment...Margaret was, quite frankly,   
concerned for her daughter's state of mind. A lot of people were. Dana had   
been withdrawn and brooding ever since Mulder's death...as though she were   
angry at the world. Margaret didn't blame her. To lose someone you cared   
about so much so suddenly...she'd had it happen to her too many times before.   
She knew the pain all too well. It was one of the worst things that anyone   
could go through.  
  
Back in the kitchen, Scully had just finished wiping down the interior   
surfaces of her weapon and was reassembling it...all that was left to do was   
reload. She put one bullet back in the chamber, and stared at it.  
  
C'mon, Mulder, came a voice from her memory--Robert Patrick Modell, aka   
Pusher. One pull of the trigger. One pull.  
  
She remembered that day so vividly...recalled her barely contained fear as   
Mulder had put the gun to his own head. She had been terrified that his pull   
of the trigger would be the loaded one. That he'd die. But he hadn't   
died...not then. She almost wanted to die now.  
  
Not entirely sure why she was doing it, Scully spun the chamber around and   
snapped it shut. With an unsteady hand, she picked up the gun. A one-in-six   
chance.  
  
Come on, Dana, she reasoned with herself. You've survived much worse   
odds before! More times than she cared to remember. It won't kill you.   
Not the first shot. Just try it once. Mulder didn't die then...and,   
besides, would dying really be so bad?  
  
It would sure be a lot better that what she now called her life. But what   
kind of a life was it? Without Mulder, she was nothing. She had loved   
him--almost desperately so. Why had she only realized it now? Why had it   
taken such tragedy for her to wake up and see the light?  
  
Mulder had been the light of her life. Had that light blinded her to the   
simple truth?  
  
Hand still shaking, she raised the revolver, and put it to her temple,   
breathing heavily. Why was she doing this?   
  
Shoot her, Modell's voice rang clear in her mind again. Shoot her,   
Mulder.   
  
But he hadn't shot her. Had he loved her too?  
  
Well, now she'd never know.  
  
But, strangely enough, Scully couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger.   
She was afraid. Afraid of what would happen. Her grip on the handgun   
tightened. Five out of six times, she'd be perfectly fine. But there was   
always that one...  
  
Cautiously (and still questioning her own motives), she held the gun out   
slightly in front of her, and fired, just to see what would happen.  
  
The kickback from the fired round surprised her. It would have been the   
one...oh, God, it would have been the one! Had she pulled that trigger   
before, she'd be dead. The realization of it all caused her to burst into   
tears.  
  
Margaret had come running as soon as she'd heard the shot. She found her   
daughter sitting in the kitchen, holding the gun in her hand...her small   
frame racked with violent sobs.  
  
"It would have been the one..." she managed to say between breaths, "just   
like last time. It would have...oh, my God."  
  
Margaret quickly surmised what had happened. She had no idea what "last   
time" meant...but she had figured out that her daughter had just nearly   
killed herself. She folded her little girl into her arms. "Oh, baby..."  
  
"Mom..." Scully whimpered, clutching her mother fiercely, "I, I, it..."  
  
"I know, Dana, I know," Margaret soothed, holding her tight. "It's   
okay...everything's going to be all right now. I'll help you, sweetie...I'll   
always be here."  
  
She continued to whisper words of comfort, rocking with her child until,   
finally, Dana cried herself to sleep.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Alex Krycek was a smart man after all. He'd hightailed it out of Alexandria   
before Mulder could catch up with him. Now Mulder was alone again...but he   
hadn't gone home. He was kneeling in the freshly cultivated dirt of St.   
Peter's Memorial Park...looking, with tears in his eyes, at the headstone   
belonging to the woman he'd loved. He *had* loved her, even if he'd only now   
realized it. There it was, right in front of him...her name, Dana Katherine   
Scully, glaring back out at him from the cold, hard stone...the dates   
1964-2000...symbolizing the span of a life that had ended much too soon. She   
was there, next to her sister...  
  
Men who would never taste true justice had murdered both of them.  
  
Mulder set down the flowers he'd been holding--the flowers he'd picked up   
when he'd realized that his apartment was the last place he wanted to go.   
Because, there, he'd be forced to face the loneliness. He'd be forced to   
face life without the presence of a woman who had been his everything for the   
better part of seven years.  
  
There were two bouquets...one, the usual one he brought for Melissa--the ones   
she'd always surrounded herself with. The other bouquet was of white   
roses...Scully's favorite. She'd loved white roses, although she had never   
mentioned it to Mulder directly. But he was her partner...he made it his   
duty to find out these things. And Margaret had been more than happy to   
volunteer the information upon request.  
  
Things haven't been the same without you  
I know that it's the truth  
I wonder, can you see me?  
Kneeling at your tomb?  
I made a bed of roses,  
But flowers can't express  
This emotion that I'm feeling--  
I'm drowning in loneliness.  
I wish that God would take me  
To be up there with you  
And if you weren't there...  
I'd go anywhere for you.  
Always and forever,   
You know that I'll be true.  
  
I know that you're not gone,  
I heard you yesterday...  
Whispering in the wind,  
I thought I heard you say,  
"Angels never die,  
We only fade away.  
And if you look around,  
You'll see us everyday."  
  
I'll love you always, girl.  
  
--R.S.  
  
Mulder tried to ignore the silent tears that were streaming down his cheeks.   
A line from a song he'd only caught snatches of came back to him... "Why did   
you have to die?" It was completely, perfectly appropriate.  
  
"I loved you," he whispered, resting his forehead against the cool marble of   
the grave. "Did you know?"  
  
Did you love me?  
  
He sat back, and felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Mulder looked up, his   
paranoid nature momentarily taking over as he wondered who on earth would   
have the audacity to...oh, it was Frohike.  
  
"You okay, Mulder?" the hacker-theorist asked.  
  
"I'll live," Mulder answered. "What about you?"  
  
"Hey, life goes on," Frohike muttered, obviously trying to sidestep his true   
feelings. He was terrible at that. Always had been. He glanced over at   
Scully's grave, emotion filling his eyes. It was then Mulder saw just how   
deeply the man really had cared for Scully.   
  
"Rest in peace, sweetheart," Frohike whispered, not knowing that Mulder had   
overheard. He looked back at the FBI agent. "She was one of the   
best...stuff like this shouldn't happen to people like her."  
  
Tell me about it, Mulder thought, but he merely nodded. "Where are   
Langly and Byers?"  
  
"I came alone," Frohike replied. He didn't elaborate, so Mulder didn't push   
him on it.   
  
"It's been awhile, huh?" Mulder asked, knowing Frohike would know he meant   
the time since they seen each other last. Not extraordinarily long,   
admittedly...but when they were used to it being on the average of once a   
week at least...  
  
"We were at the funeral," Frohike told him.  
  
Mulder looked back up, apologetic. "I'm sorry...I guess I just didn't see   
you."  
  
Frohike smiled at him sympathetically, sharing the pain. "As I recall,   
Mulder, you weren't seeing much of anything that day."  
  
"Ain't that the truth." He stood up, and walked away wordlessly, knowing   
Frohike would understand.  
  
It was good to have friends who would be supportive and sympathize with   
you...but nonetheless, Mulder was starting to wonder just whether or not life   
was really worthwhile anymore. He wasn't going to kill himself, though...no,   
committing suicide would be too easy. And, besides, if he died,   
who--bedsides the Gunmen--would ensure that Rutger Lawson would eventually   
pay for what he'd done?  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
The next day, Scully actually worked up the courage from somewhere deep   
inside herself to go back to the office. That office in the basement of the   
J. Edgar Hoover building, where she and Mulder had shared laughter, shared   
tears...and had their fair share of arguments. Her throat tightened   
involuntarily. God, she missed him.  
  
"Danie," Margaret told her, holding her hand, "you don't have to do this   
right away. Give yourself some time, honey."  
  
Margaret had reverted to a childhood nickname...but rather than feeling   
patronized by this, as she normally would be, Scully found herself oddly   
comforted by it.  
  
Stopping outside the door, Scully pulled her keys out of her pocket, unlocked   
the door marked "Fox Mulder, Special Agent". He had offered to have it   
changed one time...but she had turned him down. It wasn't not wanting to be   
identified with him and his X-Files--no, not that at all. She just knew that   
they had become something of a packaged set by that time. No one ever   
mentioned one without at least thinking of the other.  
  
"I *do* have to do this, Mom," Scully answered. "I have to face the fact   
that he's gone."  
  
"I think you've faced that already," Margaret told her. "It's time to heal,   
darling."  
  
"This'll help," Scully assured her, smiling bravely. At least I hope it   
will. I'd give anything not to feel this pain anymore.  
  
She swung the door open, and walked inside. The office was exactly as Mulder   
had left it before they'd gone to Massachusetts...in other words, complete   
chaos. Heck of the matter was, it was an *organized* chaos. Mulder had   
known exactly where everything was all of the time. He'd had yet to teach   
his partner his rather unique filing system.  
  
The "I Want to Believe" poster jumped out at her first of all. That was the   
summary of what this work was all about...Mulder's need to believe that the   
truth was out there...that his sister was safe and sound somewhere out there.   
That he would be reunited with Samantha one day.  
  
Maybe he was now.  
  
But...no. Samantha couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. Scully was not   
about to accept the possibility that everything Mulder had worked   
for...everything he'd been through...even his *death* had been in vain. No!   
That was *not* an option.  
  
If he'd had to die, he should have at least died for *something*.  
  
Sunflower seeds sprinkled across the desk...he'd been in too much of a hurry   
to pick them up. Knowing Mulder, he'd probably have just eaten them when   
they got back. Scully could never understand just what it was he loved so   
much about those stupid things.  
  
Not that any of that mattered now.  
  
She had been doing okay up to that point--all things considered--but Scully   
began to sob softly when she opened the top left-hand drawer of the desk. It   
was the more personal side of Mulder's office; she had known that already.   
But she had never known exactly what it was he'd kept there. Now she knew.  
  
There was the photo she must've seen a thousand times...the one of Samantha   
he so cherished. The cloth heart from the infamous "paper hearts" case was   
still there. All in all, the items inside the desk at the time of the office   
fire had held up fairly well.   
  
And then there was the photo that had (once again) brought her to tears. It   
was a picture, from a time the Lone Gunmen had talked Mulder and Scully into   
going to New Mexico with them to investigate a claim of a top-secret   
government project...somewhere outside of Albuquerque. If it existed, it was   
well hidden--*very* well hidden, because they never found it. But there had   
been some *adventures* on the way out. Such as Byers not knowing that the   
brownie that "nice" Mexican fellow had sold him was actually   
peyote-laced...and Frohike not volunteering any information...  
  
"That man was high as a freaking kite by the time we made it to Destiny..."   
she recalled.  
  
"Where?" Margaret asked, having overheard.  
  
"Destiny, New Mexico..." Scully answered. "It's a long story..."  
  
Margaret grinned wryly. "I'll bet."  
  
Scully glanced down at the snapshot. She and Mulder had fallen asleep in the   
backseat of the van...leaning up against each other. When the insomniac   
slept (willingly), it was a rare moment...Scully recalled watching him sleep   
until she herself had drifted off. She assumed Frohike had snapped the   
picture. Her suspicions were further advanced when she saw the writing on   
the back. It was in Frohike's handwriting...   
  
"Mulder, I hope you know you're breaking my heart! But you obviously make   
her happy--keep it that way."  
  
Margaret came over and, seeing the photo, wrapped her arms around her   
daughter. "Baby, it's tough, I know...but you'll get through this. One of   
these mornings, things will look better. I promise, Dana."  
  
"Mom..." Scully managed to say between sniffles, "it's not going to be okay.   
I loved him, Mom. He was the best thing I ever had...and I never told him.   
I never *told* him, Mom!"  
  
"He knew," Margaret assured her. "Believe me, honey, he knew. I don't see   
how he could have missed it."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
Margaret's last words, whispered soothingly, definitely struck a chord with   
her daughter. "Because it was always so obvious."  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder sank back into the chair behind his desk, dejected and alone. He   
didn't even have enough fight left in him to lean back and prop his feet up   
on the desk rebelliously. Besides, Scully had always warned him that he'd   
break his neck doing that one day.  
  
There was a knock on the door that was already open. Mulder looked up to see   
his boss standing in the doorway.   
  
"What brings you to the castle of no return?" Mulder asked darkly, his tone   
as despondent as his mood.  
  
"Actually," Skinner countered, "*I'm* surprised that *you're* here. Weren't   
you going to take some time off?"  
  
"I did," Mulder muttered. "Still am, actually...I just had to come here for   
something...I forgot what it was..."  
  
Skinner left his position at the threshold, and walked across the office. He   
put a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Listen...I know you miss her. I miss her   
too. But slowly killing yourself like this isn't going to bring her back."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I think you know exactly what I mean," Skinner countered. "Have you even   
eaten in the past three days?"  
  
"I wasn't hungry..." Mulder insisted.  
  
"That's what I mean, Mulder." Skinner sighed, a mixture of frustration and   
concern. "I'm not *even* going to ask if you've slept, because I already   
know the answer to that question. You look like death warmed over...I'm just   
worried about you, is all. I've already lost Scully; I don't want to end up   
losing you too."  
  
"I'm fine." Mulder repeated Scully's catch phrase from the previous seven   
years. His attempts to placate his supervisor didn't work out very well,   
though--probably because he was just as transparent as his partner had always   
been.  
  
"You are *not*, and don't even try convincing me otherwise. Just go home,   
okay? Relax, take some time to deal with this...and, for God's sake, take   
care of yourself!" Knowing full well that his insistences had more than   
likely fallen on deaf ears, the AD left the office. He didn't know what else   
to do. He hated to see the man so miserable, but Skinner knew there wasn't   
anything he could do to help Mulder until the agent was willing to help   
himself.  
  
Suddenly, Skinner figured out what the problem was. Mulder had finally   
realized (and possibly come to terms with) his feelings for Scully.  
  
Now, Skinner had never been a big fan of inter-office romance, and usually   
tried to discourage it, but he'd seen the way those two had gazed at each   
other when they didn't think anyone else was looking. But love really was   
blind in their case...neither one of them realized just how crazy they were   
about each other.   
  
And now Mulder realized it.  
  
Now that it was too late to do anything about it.  
  
Why was fate so cruel?  
  
Skinner reached the elevator, but just before he got in, he turned around and   
went back to the office at the end of the hall. He stuck his head in the   
door again.  
  
"Hey, Mulder."  
  
Mulder took up, despair evident in his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going..."  
  
"No, that's not it. There's something I think you need to know."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
"She *did* love you."  
  
And leaving the agent with that particular bit of information to reflect   
upon, Skinner walked away.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
  
  



	3. Part 3

XXXXXXXX  
  
  
Charles Scully put his arm around his sister, exhaling slowly. This was a   
tough week for him, just watching her go through everything. Dana was   
normally so string, so tough, so independent. Seeing her fall apart like   
this was difficult.  
  
No, it scared him beyond belief.  
  
She was an emotional wreck...and Bill sure wasn't much help. He hated   
Mulder...his theory was that once Dana got past her grief, she'd be better   
off without him in the long run. Oh, he'd never mentioned this to her   
face...but she sensed it.  
  
His mother was pretty upset too...Charles got the sense that she had more or   
less adopted the man as one of her own...losing him now was like losing   
another child.  
  
So, all in all, the past week had been pretty lousy. He almost wished he   
hadn't come for vacation *this* week--but, then, he was glad that he was able   
to be there to help them get through this.  
  
"Oh, Chuck..." Dana sobbed, accepting his comforting embrace. "I'm   
absolutely lost without him."  
  
Chuck. She never called him that. Charlie, sometimes...but not Chuck. Only   
when she was *really* upset. Which she definitely was now.   
  
"Oh, Danny," Charles pacified her, using his pet name for his sister, "you'll   
survive. You're a fighter. I mean, Billy didn't give me *all* those bruises   
growing up!"  
  
She laughed mirthlessly. "Screw Billy. He doesn't care. He's probably glad   
Mulder's dead."  
  
Charles didn't want to flat-out *lie* to her...but did stretching the truth a   
little count? "He's just worried about your safety, Dana. I'm sure he   
didn't want Mulder to *die*..."  
  
"Yeah. Sure, fine, whatever." She didn't really care anymore.  
  
Charles got up, and started heading toward the kitchen. "I'm just going to   
get a small snack. You want something?" She needed to eat, but Charles felt   
that being subtle would work a lot better than forcing the issue. He was at   
least rewarded by a raised eyebrow.  
  
"You, Charlie? Small snack? This, coming from the child who finished off a   
bag of potato chips at the age of three?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "*Half* a bag, okay, Danny? You're exaggerating. And   
you're dodging the question besides. Do you want something or don't you?"  
  
"Thanks, but no. I'm not really hungry."  
  
He should've expected this. But he wasn't going to push it just yet. He'd   
give her some time. Like another couple hours or so. He'd persuade her   
eventually, though. Just turn on the old charm, and...  
  
Yeah, Charlie, right. In your dreams. She's as stubborn as any other   
member of this family. She won't do anything 'till she's good and ready.  
  
Charles rejoined her in her living room, and tried to hold back a small smile   
as his sister reached out to turn the radio on. As least she was showing   
some level of interest in the outside world again. He was worried for a   
while that she was going to start becoming agoraphobic or something.  
  
Things progressed fairly smoothly (at least in Charles' opinion) until the   
song on the radio switched from "Monday, Monday"--which actually elicited the   
tiniest of smiles from her, for reasons Charles couldn't understand--to "Dead   
Man's Curve". Her facial expression became stormy...azure eyes narrowed.   
This wasn't a good thing.  
  
Uncharacteristic, sheer, unbidden anger flashed across her features, as she   
grabbed the clock radio, and winged it into the nearest wall. Charles yelped   
in surprise.  
  
"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!!" Dana screamed, to the heavens, or anyone else   
who would listen. The shattered radio laid there on the floor, unnoticed by   
either of the room's occupants.  
  
Charles once again gathered his sister into his arms, and offered a silent   
prayer heavenward. From the looks of things, it was going to be another   
*very* long night.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"Charlie?"  
  
Only because it was his mother did Charles Scully look up. He'd had too much   
going on in the past week, too many people to deal with, too many factors to   
be considered. He'd had to be the strong one thus far...with Bill stuck out   
at sea and unable to get back in time for Dana's funeral, Charles had to sort   
of take over as the older brother. Be there for Mom. Make sure everyone was   
okay. Figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with Fox Mulder...  
  
In this respect, Charles was glad that he was the one handling things. The   
man would surely have been dead by now if things were up to Bill.   
  
"Yeah, Mom?" Charles looked back at his laptop for one second, and hit the   
"send" button again for the e-mail. Nothing.  
  
Slam head on keyboard to continue... he thought, with no small amount of   
sarcasm. Sheesh, can anything *else* go wrong this week? First my sister   
is murdered--again, now Hotmail's acting up? Sure, it was trivializing   
things. But until he got home and could sort things out with his wife Hanna,   
trivializing things seemed the only way to stay sane.  
  
"Have you talked to Fox recently?"  
  
So like her, to be concerned about him in the midst of her own personal   
crisis. She had done most of her crying when she'd first gotten the   
news...but she knew it was only now hitting him.   
  
Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt anymore. Actually, it had become   
something of an art form in recent days.  
  
"Um, no, not since..." Well, since the funeral. Why remind her?  
  
"Oh. Billy hasn't talked to him, has he?"  
  
Charles swallowed. He did not particularly relish the idea of lying to his   
mother...but he also didn't want to worry her...  
  
Bill had talked to Mulder. Yeah, they'd had a real nice little one-sided   
chat. Suffice it to say, it was Bill's side. And "sorry SOB" (his insult of   
choice during Dana's battle with cancer) was about as *good* as it had gotten.  
  
Margaret seemed to sense this. "Oh, wonderful. That's just *wonderful*. He   
already blames himself for Dana's death, now he's just going to blame himself   
even more...thanks a lot, Bill." With this, she exited the room.  
  
Dang...he'd never heard his mother so sarcastic. It intrigued and worried   
him at the same time.  
  
The phone rang. From his mother's words and tone of voice, Charles assumed   
it to be Mulder. This was only confirmed when she called him "Fox."  
  
Shutting off his laptop, Charles sat back with a sigh. He wanted to go home.   
He wanted Hanna. He wanted his sisters back so life could go back to   
normal. But what was normal to begin with? How far back did one have to go?  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully resigned herself to the fact that: a.) She was going to have to get a   
new clock radio b.) Her brother Charles was now seriously doubting her   
sanity, and c.) Her life was going to have to go on. She realized by now   
that this was her classic "response" to these things, more or less...sink to   
the depths of depression for a few days, totally break down...then get on   
with her life. Even after the worst of tragedies, life always went on. It   
would always go on.   
  
Love can touch us one time  
And last for a lifetime  
And never let go 'till we want.  
Love was when I loved you,  
One true time I hold to  
In my life, we'll always go on.  
  
"My Heart Will Go On". Celine Dion's song. The "love theme" to Titanic.   
She loved that movie...had dragged Mulder to see it Valentine's Day 1998.   
Something of a "pity date", admittedly...they had both gone with each other   
because they didn't want to be alone. And neither of them had a date.   
They'd done that the year before, too...'98 was when they realized it was   
going to be a tradition. It had been a Saturday. Chilly. She remembered   
the tragic end of the movie...the sweet, concerned look Mulder had given her   
as she'd cried her eyes out. To him, it was a movie. To her (although she'd   
never have admitted it at the time) it was a possibility. That she could   
allow herself to get so close to a person who would be suddenly snatched from   
her.  
  
Well, it had happened now, hadn't it? But Rose survived after losing   
Jack...and as tough as it was going to be after losing Mulder, Scully knew   
she was going to have to survive. She would never give up the X-Files if she   
could help it...she would carry the torch. She would learn of Samantha's   
fate. She would find the Smoking Man and bring him to justice. Heck, maybe   
she could even kick Krycek's butt one day. Just for old times' sake--and to   
settle a score.  
  
She had loved Mulder. She had unknowingly given him her heart, but now as   
the song said, her heart was going to have to go on.  
  
Scully didn't intend to start calling herself Dana Mulder just yet, though.   
Sometimes a good thing could be taken too far.  
  
And besides which, Bill would probably never speak to her again.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
A tiny spark of light shone through the bleakness Mulder was now calling his   
life. He saw a shadowy figure sneaking along the alleyway just outside his   
apartment. Deja vu. It was Krycek! Had to be! No, wait, that was last   
time. This man was slightly taller, a little more muscular, and not quite as   
light on his feet.  
  
Lawson!  
  
It was Lawson. Mulder recognized him immediately, and took full advantage of   
the element of surprise. Rutger Lawson had about two inches and twenty-five   
pounds on Mulder, but Mulder snuck up behind him, and was able to tackle him   
easily.  
  
"How do you like it?!" Mulder demanded, going for his gun. "How do you like   
it when they sneak up on you and attack?! How do you think *Scully* liked it   
when you put that knife in her?!"  
  
Lawson muttered something in German. Mulder, fully enraged, allowed himself   
a small, twisted smile. Revenge would be sweet.   
  
"I think you just called me a bad name," Mulder mumbled to himself, recalling   
the time he'd said those words to Krycek. And what had happened then? He'd   
ended up in a Russian prison. Well, not this time. This time, *he* was   
going to come out on top. He kicked Lawson once, in the ribs, fairly hard.   
  
Lawson saw his opportunity a second later, and managed to trip Mulder,   
allowing himself the time to jump to his feet. He swung at the agent.   
Mulder--running on pure adrenaline--easily ducked the blow, and caught Lawson   
with another one under the chin, knocking him over again.  
  
"That was for my partner," Mulder explained casually. He kicked Lawson   
again, catching him just under the ribs. "That was for me." He bent down to   
help Lawson up, and stuck the gun in his face. "And this--well, I suppose   
it's for both of us."  
  
"Now, uh, Mulder..." Lawson began, reverting to English, "I can--"  
  
"You can what?! You can explain? Oh, yeah, right, you were just doing your   
job. I'm going to kill you anyway, so you might as well tell me the truth.   
Why'd you kill her?"  
  
The words had changed slightly, but the situation was still the same as it   
had been on that cool April night nearly five years ago. Scully had been   
there then. She'd shot him--ironically enough, to protect him.  
  
"But she's not here now, is she?" Mulder mused. His glare returned to   
Lawson. "And we both know why. Just tell me why you killed her!"  
  
"Because," Lawson countered, an evil gleam in his eye, "it was *fun*. I   
enjoyed it. Seeing her squirm so helplessly, that beautiful crimson blood   
everywhere..."  
  
That was the last straw. It was more than Mulder could take. He pulled the   
trigger.  
  
And the world fell to pieces around him.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully sighed deeply. Picking up the tattered pieces of broken dreams was   
never an easy task...and piecing them back together again was harder. But   
she had begun to believe that maybe...just maybe...she was going to be able   
to pull it off once again. She, like Mary Tyler Moore, would "make it after   
all." It wasn't going to be simple--and nothing in her life was ever   
trouble-free--but she could do this.  
  
She was going to have to.  
  
After all, if Fox Mulder couldn't chase after all those lights in the sky   
anymore, she was going to have to do it for him. Oh, she'd be a bit more   
cautious than he was, a little more skeptical as always, and a little more   
discerning...but she'd also try to be a little more open to extreme   
possibilities. After all, as improbable as it was, as unlikely--maybe one of   
those lights *wouldn't* be Venus. She highly doubted it...but, then, which   
one of them had been right, "like, 98.9% of the time"?   
  
That was when the world shattered around her. Not like in the   
accident...but, truthfully, the pieces of the world around her cracked and   
broke apart. What the heck...?  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder blinked, and looked around. His head hurt...and his arms were   
strapped down.  
  
Not another hospital! was his first thought. But there were no monitors   
beeping, and Scully was nowhere in sight. Of course she's not...Lawson   
killed her. But I gave him a taste of his own medicine...  
  
Suddenly, he realized that he had no clue what he'd done after he'd shot   
Lawson. He didn't even know if Lawson was dead or not. Probably was...the   
gun had been aimed at Lawson's chest. But then again, in his blind fury,   
Mulder's aim could have been way off.  
  
"So," a voice said. "You're awake. Enjoy your dreams?"  
  
"What?!" Mulder asked, completely clueless.   
  
"Well, Mr. Mulder," reply came back, "you've been having some interesting   
dreams from the looks of your REM patterns. Care to let me in on the   
details? Or don't I have to ask?"  
  
Suddenly, Mulder recognized the voice. It was one of the Japanese scientists   
who'd helped experiment on Scully during her abduction.   
  
"You won't get anything out of me!" Mulder maintained, feeling the surge of   
vehemence return. He'd wanted to get his hands on these people for years.   
"You wanted Lawson to kill her, didn't you? To cover up your tests! You   
already gave her cancer, and she just barely survived that! Is that why you   
give these women cancer? Is it?! To kill them so there won't be any proof   
left?!"  
  
"If you'll recall," the scientist sighed, sounding bored, "there was a chip   
implanted in your precious Agent Scully's neck--as with all the women we've   
used in our research. It wasn't *our* fault they had them removed."  
  
"Wouldn't you have?!" Mulder demanded. He'd probably have hit this guy in   
his self-righteous face if his arms hadn't been tied down. "And is that all   
they are to you? Research tools? Lab rats? Well, some people out there   
care about them, you know! They have family! Friends! People who love   
them!"  
  
"Like yourself?" the man suggested.  
  
"Yes!" Mulder hissed.   
  
"We didn't do everything, you realize," the scientist explained. "After all,   
Agent Mulder, we're only helping in this venture. "In any case, you should   
know that my name is Thai Jun. *Doctor* Thai Jun, if it means anything to   
you. We're doing some research into dream patterns and the subconscious--you   
and your partner were perfect for it. And I'll let you up if you promise not   
to do anything rash."  
  
No promises, Mulder thought, but made his face the perfect picture of   
innocence. "I promise."  
  
"Good," Jun responded, and undid the restraints. Mulder took his shot when   
he had it. He shoved Jun away and into a nearby table, stunning the   
scientist. With this, he ran out the door, hoping he'd be able to quickly   
locate a fast way out.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully moaned softly and batted her eyes open. Wow...whatever she'd taken   
had a kick to it. She turned her head slightly to the left, and screamed.   
  
One of the scientists she vaguely recognized from her abduction was standing   
right next to her.  
  
"Miss Scully," he greeted her. "You're awake. Very good."  
  
"What have you done with me?!" she challenged him. "I won't let you! Not   
again!"  
  
He blew air between his lips in a very uninterested manner. "You can   
certainly get your Irish up, can't you? Shouldn't surprise me...redheads can   
be like that." He walked over, and started to undo the straps on her upper   
arms. "Just a little dream research, my dear. You and your partner made   
ideal subjects. And besides which, I liked you. Hated to let you go. But   
with that nasty little incident with the Purity Control...we had to get you   
to a hospital."  
  
"*What*...*on*...*earth*...*are*...*you*...*talking*...*about*?" Scully   
growled at him, each word laced with pure acid.  
  
"Long story," he said dismissively. "And you're not ready for it. Trust me."  
  
"I wouldn't trust you any farther than I could throw you." Scully sat up on   
the table, and glared at her captor. She'd been through this crap once   
before, and once was enough. More than enough. "Were they with you? The   
two people in the Dodge? Were they trying to kill Mulder?"  
  
"Believe what you like, dear," the scientist informed her. "In any case, my   
name is..."  
  
He didn't get the chance to tell her, because she surprised him with a quick   
blow to the jaw, and shoved him against a cabinet, letting him hit his head   
just enough to knock him out.  
  
"Never again," she told him, every word venom. "*Never*. And don't call me   
'dear'!"  
  
She ran out the door.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder raced down the hallway, wishing he had a better idea of where he was   
so he could get out.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully raced down the hallway, wishing she had a better idea of where she was   
so she could get out.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
In his hurry, Mulder didn't see the small auburn-haired woman headed straight   
for him.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
In her hurry, Scully didn't see the tall brown-haired man headed straight for   
her.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder ran straight into her, falling backwards.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully ran straight into him, falling backwards.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Mulder looked up. "Miss, I'm so sorry..." He broke off as he realized just   
who it was.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
Scully looked up. "I'm so sorry, sir..." She broke off as she realized just   
who it was.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"*Scully*?!"  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"*Mulder*?!"  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
"I thought you were dead!" they both exclaimed.  
  
"*I* was dead?" they asked in unison, then started laughing.  
  
Mulder stood up, and helped Scully to her felt. They embraced instantly.  
  
"So how did I die?" Scully asked casually.  
  
Mulder was caught off-guard. "Um...some guy named Rutger Lawson stabbed   
you..." A thought occurred to him. "What about me? How did I die?"  
  
Scully shrugged. "Car accident. But I think it was set up."  
  
"You, Scully? Maybe we've been together for too long!" He paused. "Car   
accident. Sheesh. After all these years, I'd expect something a little more   
exotic. But oh, well. They question is, since we're both not dead,   
obviously, what really happened?"  
  
They both thought about this, and came up with the same answer at the same   
time.  
  
"Dream research!"  
  
"They planted those thoughts in our minds..." Scully explained, just in case   
her partner hadn't figured it out.  
  
"Yeah, I got it," he assured her. "Let's get out of here, G-woman."  
  
"I'm all for that. Too bad we missed Valentine's Day."  
  
He checked his watch. "Actually, we didn't. It's still February 14. Let's   
get out of here...and we'll catch a movie or something. Your choice."  
  
"Wow, thanks. Sounds good to me, G-man. And since it *is* Valentine's   
Day...I want to tell you that I love you. Right here, right now. No drugs.   
Really, I do love you."  
  
"That's good," Mulder answered, "because I love you too. I meant it when I   
said it the first time. I've always loved you, Scully."  
  
They stopped a moment to share a sweet kiss--filled with promise for the   
future. And both knew that they would never take the other for granted again.  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
THE END  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
EPILOGUE:  
  
Two days later, Skinner's office (Note: if you haven't seen "Field Trip", you   
might not get this.)  
  
"Welcome back, Agents," the AD told them, grinning. He smiled at the file in   
his hand. "It's certainly a are day when both of you sign off on the same   
report. It was only Japanese scientists? No aliens, Mulder?"  
  
"Not this time, sir," Mulder replied, smiling. "That's not to say that   
they're not out there." Something occurred to him. "Rare day...the same   
report...Scully? You don't think that...?"  
  
"Mulder," his partner answered firmly, "don't even *think* it."  
  
XXXXXXXX  
  
END NOTES: I can't remember what date I started this on, but after what has   
to be about 4 months of work (not to mention the time I toyed with the idea   
beforehand), I finally completed this story on May 17, 2000. It's been my   
pet project, and I'm particularly proud of it. I need feedback, people,   
please. But now I also need a new pet project! Ah, well, that's what fanfic   
challenges are for, right? *Grins* I know I can always count on the Church of   
X!  
And my friend Lacye, who has been my editor, proofreader, and critique since   
the beginning. In fact, she was reading over my shoulder as I typed out the   
first sentences one lazy afternoon during Journalism class... And she, of   
course, hit me several times with my own work (she hates Mulder Torture about   
as much as I love it--but at least does admit he's at his cutest when he's   
hurt), refused to speak to me for nearly 15 minutes, screamed in shock, came   
close to shedding a few tears (don't think no one saw ya, Lace!) :p, and made   
me re-write the scene with Vicki giving Scully her cell phone back about 4   
times until it met her satisfaction, enlisting the opinions of others to   
convince me that I was blind as a bat in this case, she was right, and I'd   
better change it! Thanks, Lacye, I really do appreciate it--especially all   
those words of encouragement when I was feeling a bit unsure about the work   
itself. Yeah, sure, the scene with Marita is kind of a lull, but, hey, it's   
just one scene. I'm grateful, really. So, Lacye, this one's for you! Yeah,   
I dedicated a whole *story* to you, girl. (She'll be insufferable for at   
least a month...and Shauna's gonna kick my @$$ if I don't dedicate something   
to her soon--then there's Beth...what have I gotten myself into?) :-P In   
fact, it was a comment Lacye made to me several months ago (before this   
little gem was even a figment of my all-too-overactive imagination) that   
helped out a lot here. She told me I should write a fic that had the   
following in it:  
Krycek (Evil shouldn't look so good!)   
Frohike's crush on Scully (as if I could forget...my little Frog Prince!)  
Mentions of Samantha  
MSR (right, like I was gonna leave that out!)  
  
I think I got 'em, plus a few extras! Okay, I couldn't resist the   
woman-scorned thing. Actually, I think Lacye was, at the time, being a smart   
aleck, as usual. But, hey, it gets results! :) As for the medical/anatomy   
info in the story...I love Mosby's Medical Encyclopedia! But I'm going to be   
a doctor, so I suppose it's good practice. *Smiles wryly*  
Okay, I'm rambling, sorry. Tend to do that when I'm wrapping up. Thanks for   
bearing with me, hope to hear from you. Share with me, people!  
Kate  
5/17/00  
  
  
  
  



End file.
